


Wasteland

by remanth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Wasteland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a witch curses Dean to face his worst fears, Cas comes to the rescue and proves to Dean he's not poison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasteland

It was a hot, barren wasteland and Dean had no idea how he got here. The last thing he remembered was being on a hunt by himself, going after a couple witches. This looked nothing like the suburban town the witches had lived in, nothing at all like the little clapboard houses and neat lawns that lined quiet streets. Had those witches cursed him somehow? Did they even have the juice to send him somewhere else?

“Friggin’ witches,” Dean grumbled as he walked over dust and sand. The sun shone brightly, punishingly down on his head and it was starting to burn a little bit. “I freakin’ hate witches.”

But there was no answer to his words, not even a whisper of wind or the call of birds. Dean continued to walk, scanning the wasteland carefully for any signs of danger. Or a way out. He couldn’t stay here long and survive. Already his mouth was dry and a cool glass of water sounded like heaven. Up on his right, a shadowy blemish appeared in the otherwise flat landscape. Dean hurried up to it, wondering if it was a car or something he could use to move faster. It wasn’t. Dark bones poked up out of the sand, bones that inexplicably had a face that was still in perfect condition. Dean felt his heart stop as he recognized that face: John Winchester.

“Dad,” Dean whispered, sinking to his knees next to the bones. “What the hell are you doing here? Where the hell am I?”

“This is your fault, Dean,” John said suddenly, unblinking eyes staring straight at Dean. “I’m dead because of you. I sold my soul for you. And what have you done with the extra time I bought for you? _Nothing_. You are worthless, Dean, and only get the people around you killed.”

Before Dean could reply, or even open his mouth, John faded away. His face was the last to go, eyes still staring accusingly at Dean. Dean felt his heart sink and knew everything his father said was true. Hadn’t he told Sam himself that he was poison? No matter the people he’d managed to save, the list of the dead was far, far too long. And most of those were dead because they’d been associated with him. Ash, Ellen, Jo, Pam, Bobby, Kevin. The list went on. Those names were burned into Dean’s mind and, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, those names ran through his head on a constant loop. The sand now was completely clean and bare, no sign that John’s bones had even rested here. There was no point in staying here now, the ground wouldn’t give Dean answers or a way out. Taking a deep breath, Dean pushed himself to his feet and started walking again. Wherever those witches had sent him, whatever he had to experience, Dean needed to get out.

Moving forward, Dean couldn’t see anything else marring the flat landscape of the wasteland. Maybe that was the worst thing he’d have to deal with. Yet something told Dean that his trials here weren’t over. Witches weren’t the nicest of people, ever, and sending him here had to be revenge for hunting them. A fierce grin tugged at his lips when Dean remembered he actually had killed one of them. She’d been in the bedroom of a small house and no one else had appeared to be there. But he’d turned just in time to see the second witch scream in anger at the body of her friend and hurl something green and bubbling at him. Dean had no idea of how that green stuff could have sent him here but the witch must have had some serious juice to do it. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t dead. But, up ahead, Dean made out a couple of familiar-looking figures and realized this might be a fate worse than death. No matter how true the conversations might be.

“Ellen, Jo,” Dean said, nodding at the two flickering ghosts as he walked up to them. Jo looked the same as the last time he’d seen her, a few years ago during that hunt for Osiris. Ellen looked similar, her face pale and lips tinged with gray. She also looked pissed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ellen snapped, walking forward to slap Dean. It stung and snapped his head sideways. “We’re here because of you. Jo was mauled by a hellhound saving _your_ life! I died making sure those evil sons of bitches didn’t follow you and Sam. What right do you have to still be alive, Dean Winchester? What makes you so worthy that you keep being resurrected? What have you done that makes you deserve it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replied quietly, shaking his head. “I’ve done nothing and I wish I could just stay dead. I didn’t mean for you and Jo to die, you have to believe that, Ellen. I know it’s my fault but I can’t change it. I’m sorry.”

“You know, Dean, I really wanted to torch you when Osiris sent me,” Jo said conversationally, crossing her arms over her chest. “The whole caring about you thing, telling you it wasn’t your fault, that was all an act. I knew it would hurt you worse when you finally did die and thought you had been forgiven. You will never be forgiven, Dean, and you will never deserve it. You are toxic and have no good in you at all.”

Dean just shook his head again, feeling the reverberation in his bones as Jo repeated words he’d said himself. There wasn’t a minute that went by that Dean believed he might ever be forgiven for Ellen and Jo’s deaths and he knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness. The only way to twist the knife deeper would be for... yep, Ash and Pam showing up behind Ellen and Jo. They stared at him accusingly, Pam’s eyes oddly mismatched. One was her normal brown and the other was a milky white. Castiel had burned Pam’s eyes out because Dean had wanted to know who had pulled him out of Hell. Then, another of his plans went bad and Pam was killed by a demon. Ash, of course, had been in the Roadhouse when demons had torched it. He’d had information Dean had needed, information that Dean had sent him after. The blood on his hands was an ocean and these four were just the tip of the iceberg.

Ash and Pam evidently felt no need to add on to what Ellen and Jo said as all four faded away. Jo twisted the knife as she faded, blood staining her shirt from where the hellhound had torn into her. She’d gone back for him, had shot at something she couldn’t see to give Dean the few seconds he needed to get back up and run. But Jo had paid a heavy price for her heroism, one Dean couldn’t help but regret. Again, he started walking and hurried away from the place the four ghosts had appeared. Dean’s shoulders bowed under the weight of his regret, head down as he trudged along. This was an exquisitely crafted punishment and Dean had to marvel at the mechanics of it while simultaneously cursing the witch who’d stuck him here. How many more innocents lost would he have to face? There were a few Dean hoped he never had to meet again. Besides, with the path he was sure he was following, he’d never meet them in the afterlife either. With any luck and justice, they went to Heaven. Not where he was headed. As another familiar person appeared up ahead, Dean wondered just how much more of this he needed to endure. The pain had been escalating with each encounter and he had no idea who could possibly be after the next. That wound was still raw and oozing, the pain almost driving him to insanity.

“Kevin,” Dean said when he reached the figure, voice cracking with sorrow. 

“You did this to me, Dean!” Kevin screamed, burned-out eyes still managing to zero in on Dean’s face. “You let that angel in, you told me to trust you! I’m dead because of you. My whole life, everything I knew, ruined because you walked into my life with that damn tablet! If it weren’t for you, my mom, my girlfriend, and I would all be living normal lives. No Leviathans, no angels, no demons, no death. You’re a walking disaster, Dean, and you will never help those you care about. Everyone you love dies and _you_ cause it!”

“I’m so sorry, Kevin,” Dean whispered, reaching out to the man but stopping halfway there. Kevin was right, his touch was cursed. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I’m so, so sorry.”

“That’s not enough and it never will be,” Kevin sneered, shaking his head. “Crying over my pyre doesn’t absolve you, Dean. My blood is all over your hands and you will _never_ wash it away.”

“Dean!” Cas’s voice called over Kevin’s last few words. Dean had been staring at his hands, watching the blood drip down with soft plops into the dirt. For everything he’d done, everyone he’d lost, Kevin’s blood was the reason he was going to burn. The kid had trusted him to protect him and Dean had allowed his killer into the bunker. Had trusted the damned angel with his little brother and been played. “Dean!”

“Not you too, Cas,” Dean mumbled tiredly as Kevin faded away. He dropped down into the sand again, crossing his arms over his chest as he curled in on himself. Seeing Cas now, knowing what the angel would say after seeing Kevin, had finally broken Dean. “I’m sorry for everything. I know it’s not enough but I’m sorry I made you fall. I’m sorry you chose me over your family and I ruined that. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me and made a deal with Crowley instead. I’m sorry you lost your grace and were played by Metatron. I’m sorry I kicked you out of the bunker, made you fend for yourself when you had no idea how to be human. I’m sorry I lied and never told you a damn thing. I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cas replied quietly, squatting in front of Dean and taking his hands. At Cas’s touch, the blood disappeared as if it had never been. Dean looked up into the angel’s face, surprised to see sympathy and care there. “None of it was your fault, Dean.”

“Cas? Is this real? How’d you get here?” Dean asked, surprised.

“We aren’t in a real place, per se,” Cas replied, looking around the wasteland with interest. “When I lost my sense of you, I got worried and started looking. And before you ask, Sam is fine. I healed him. But I found the witch that cast the spell on you and got her to explain how she did it. She won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

“Sense of me? What the hell are you talking about, Cas?” Dean asked, confusion giving his words a bite. “I’m glad Sam is healed and all, but you need to explain a little better man. Where exactly are we and what do you mean “sense of me”?”

“We’re in a part of your mind the witch locked you into,” Cas explained, settling into a more comfortable position in the sand in front of Dean. He never let go of Dean’s hands, twining their fingers together as he spoke. “That’s the spell she cast. Think of it like this: she sent you to a place to face your darkest fears. Most people are destroyed by it. You’ve survived so far and that says a lot about you. As for my sense of you, I’ve told you we share a profound bond before. It’s part of that. When I pulled you out of hell, a part of your soul latched onto me. It was almost like a trade, a piece of you for a piece of me. Ever since then, I’ve had a mostly reliable sense of you. But when you disappeared, I knew I had to find you. I think it’s time to leave, Dean.”

“Thanks for that explanation and I wish you had told me before about the bond thing,” Dean replied, shaking his head. “Little creepy, man, that you’re carrying a piece of me around in you. Though I guess that explains the personal space thing a little. And yeah, it’s time for you to leave, Cas. Leave me here. That witch did nothing but hasten the end I knew was coming. I’m going straight to hell for Kevin’s death, among others. This is where I belong. I know that.”

Cas stared at Dean for a moment, sorrow flashing in his eyes. He knew the self-hatred Dean had for himself, had witnessed it firsthand in Hell and in rebuilding the man’s body and soul. If Dean wouldn’t leave voluntarily then Cas would have to take him away. And prove just how wrong Dean was about himself. Without warning, Cas moved them out of the wasteland, breaking the witch’s curse as he did so. Honestly, it wasn’t that hard. The only reason her curse had worked as well as it had was because of how Dean felt about himself. They appeared on the dock leading into a small pond that Dean often dreamed about, a blanket underneath them and birds chirping cheerfully in the trees. Dean looked around with wide eyes, surprised that Cas was able to move him in his own mind.

“Why are we here?” Dean asked, wondering if he should drop Cas’s hands. The angel was making no move to let go and Dean was enjoying the rare moment of contact. He’d kept any contact with Cas to a minimum, doubting he’d be able to keep it platonic if he made a habit of touching the angel. Even the hug in Purgatory had been calculated, Dean counting the seconds to make sure he didn’t hold on too long. Of course, he’d held on longer than what might have been completely appropriate but Cas had never mentioned it. “For once, a witch got it right, you know. I belonged where I was.”

“You don’t and you need to realize that,” Cas argued, pulling Dean a little closer. He leaned in, staring intently into Dean’s eyes. “You are a pure soul, Dean, and you have done so much good. There are people alive out there because of sacrifices you’ve made, hunts you’ve finished. You are a good person. You don’t deserve Hell and that’s not where you’re going.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, to refute every single point Cas made. But before he could even get one word out, Cas closed the last of the space between them and pressed his lips to Dean’s. That silenced Dean completely and for a few seconds, he lost himself to the kiss. It was light and sweet, a declaration of caring and everything that Cas had been saying. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, for once not caring about the time or keeping contact to a minimum. Cas had started this and Dean was going to take everything the angel was willing to give him. After all, it might not happen again. As they kissed, Cas let go of one of Dean’s hands and cupped the back of his neck, holding him in place. Finally, he pulled back, slightly out of breath and a small smile on his face.

“What was that for?” Dean asked, breaking the silence between them. Better to ask that than blurt out “I love you” or “Kiss me again”. Much as he might wish to say that instead.

“Dean, you are thanked on a daily basis,” Cas replied, sidestepping the question a bit. “You are cared about. You are loved. I want to prove that to you.”

“How are you going to do that?” Dean snapped, a tinge of bitterness coating his words. “There are some things that don’t wash away, Cas.”

“Maybe but they don’t have to eclipse everything else,” Cas said reasonably, squeezing Dean’s hand. When Dean shook his head again, Cas decided to stop trying to convince Dean through words. There were other ways to show how much Dean was cared for. Pulling Dean in for another kiss, this one warmer than the last, Cas let his hand wander down Dean’s back. As Dean relaxed into the kiss and started to kiss back, Cas slipped his hand under Dean’s shirt to splay against his back. This was one of the things that stuck in Cas’s mind the most about putting Dean back together: how much the hunter liked to be touched. There was so much love held inside Dean and hidden that the hunter only allowed out in rare moments. This time, it was Dean’s turn to receive some of that love back.

Since Cas had moved them into a dream in a different part of Dean’s mind, reality worked a little differently here. It only took a thought on Cas’s part and they were both lying side by side on the dock. They were still kissing, Cas’s arms wrapped tightly around Dean and holding him close. In a rare moment of giving himself over to what he wanted, Dean had turned completely pliant and relaxed in Cas’s arms, letting the angel do whatever he wanted. Which Cas planned on taking full advantage of. Moving slowly, Cas kissed down Dean’s jaw and to his neck. He sucked little red marks above Dean’s pulse and to his collarbone, enjoying the taste of skin on his tongue. Dean moaned quietly each time, hand threading into Cas’s hair. Wanting to take the time to do it himself, Cas unbuttoned Dean’s shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Then he kissed and sucked at the skin of Dean’s chest, almost worshipping the man beneath him. Every touch and kiss screamed out Cas’s love and regard for Dean, causing a warmth to pool in Dean’s belly. Dean’s breath grew ragged as he started to believe that what Cas was telling him might be true. Surely someone as pure and good as an angel (even after all the mistakes, Dean still believed Cas to be a force of good) could love him, maybe Dean wasn’t as damned as he thought.

“Cas,” Dean murmured as Cas leaned back up to press a kiss to the center of his throat. The words stuck in Dean’s throat for a moment, several possibilities for the next sentence all vying to get out at once. Dean cleared his throat and managed a smile. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Cas replied, smiling back and pressing a light kiss to Dean’s lips. “But I’m not done yet. I don’t think I’ve quite convinced you.”

Dean laughed at the obvious smirk in Cas’s words and pulled the angel down to him for a hug. He put all his gratitude and love into the hug, speaking more with touch than he could ever with his voice. There were some things Dean still couldn’t quite say. But Cas, wonderful, constant, and brilliant Cas, understood. They spent hours in Dean’s dream, kissing and touching and loving. Finally allowing themselves to believe they could have something so good and so bright, that they deserved it.


End file.
